


Get Home

by lorrcan



Series: All This Bad Blood [1]
Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Drug Abuse, M/M, Poetic, Realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-01 07:01:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16760263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorrcan/pseuds/lorrcan
Summary: this whole piece is inspired by some bastille songs and as well that i was high in the shower and listening to their music.  so enjoy





	Get Home

**Author's Note:**

> this whole piece is inspired by some bastille songs and as well that i was high in the shower and listening to their music. so enjoy

Clouds rolled in above Tyler and Josh’s heads, great gray wisps that circled their own self, like a horse in a corral. Waves form throughout the canvas, as if the world has flipped and finally, the ocean has met the sky and the world is going to change. Wind picks up, whipping the building with such force, the two of them can hear the windows shuddering and screaming out against the pain. For some reason, though, the slashes of wind don’t touch them. Tyler stares out with dark eyes and his body jerks around, goosebumps sprouting throughout his skin, even over the small skin between his fingers. Josh reaches over, without taking his face away from the storm, and takes hold of Tyler’s hand. Soft kisses, nose nudges, and the goosebumps disappear, retreat back deep within the walls of Tyler. 

“Do you think it’ll reach us?” asks Tyler. 

Josh shrugs. “Make sure it doesn’t.” 

The first man scoffs, rubs a hand over his hair, prickles poking through the thin shields of his hands. The roof’s cement railing begins to crumble against the storm, as if the clouds are reaching down from the sky and taking pieces of it with. Ghostly, surprisingly, Tyler feels another hand travel up his thigh and to his crotch. Over his jeans, there isn’t much stimulation, but it is the fact that there’s a hand there that Tyler  _ can’t _ ignore it. That hand leads down to where Josh sits next to him, up until the shoulder joint pops into the socket. Tyler’s right eye twitches. 

“Don’t you think it would be amazing to see fire spitting out from it?” 

Tyler drops his hand on top of Josh’s-- the one that is covering his dick-- and deliberately makes him squeeze. “From what? My cock?” 

“Maybe,” Josh snickers. “But, I meant the tornado.” 

Tyler sighs, flops back down onto the gravel roof, finding a comfortable space in the bed of spikes and jagged edges. Josh keeps his hand where it spread across, mindlessly massaging, but no pleasure deriving from it. His mind is too much like burnt scrambled eggs right now to ever begin to think of getting hard. “Why?” 

“I wanna see the streets filled with molten lava. Wanna see the cars be eaten alive and lamp posts fall.” 

“You want the city to burn,” Tyler says, rolling his eyes. “Just because we learned about  _ Pompeii  _ today in class doesn’t mean you want it to happen.” 

“Why not?” 

Tyler sits up. Rocks stick to the back of his sweaty neck. Fall into the depths of his sweatshirt, catching on loose threads and slick skin. “Because I know you. And as much as you hate this place, you know nothing else. You’re stuck just like all of us.” 

Josh clenches his jaw, visibly, and his gaze towards the storm hardens, as if he is wishing to battle against a tornado that can plausibly spit out fire and lava rocks. “At least then we wouldn’t have to worry about anything. Be buried underneath ash and fire.” 

“Shut up,” Tyler whispers, flatly. He’s tired. His eyes don’t droop, though. 

“And you don’t?” The wind finally reaches them, and Tyler feels his sweatshirt arms grow inside as the wind snakes its way into the sleeves. “Don’t lie to me.” 

“I’m not disagreeing with you, Joshua,” Tyler snaps.

The sky rumbles, the sound reverberating off of Tyler’s own eardrums and bouncing against the windows of the tall buildings around them. Angels begin to bowl, their strikes and spares loud and obnoxious. Tyler shivers at that and hopes that the angels keep their games to far above the clouds, above the sky even. He sighs, grumbles underneath it, and pulls up his hood to protect himself from the upcoming onslaught of rain. 

“I’m just telling you to shut up before the barrier breaks and I get my best sweatshirt ruined by your emotions,” Tyler mumbles.

Immediately, Josh’s shoulders lax and loosen and the rain begins. 

Tyler brings his knees to his chest, even though it makes his chest feel even tighter. 

“I’m sorry I’ve changed since the party.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Tyler says. Josh looks down at his lap. “J, I promise. I’m not upset and neither should you. People change.” 

His arms are tossed into the air, into the rain. “Jenna says I should be scared and crying all the time. When she got… y’know, she said she was a mess. But why am I not like that?” 

“Because you have me. Because you don’t remember. Because you can escape.” 

Josh’s lip twitches. “I can… taste it sometimes. And that’s why I just need you so much.” 

“And that’s fine,” Tyler says. 

Josh doesn’t respond. 

“C’mon,” Tyler mutters. “I’ll show you something new.”

He squints at Tyler, and Tyler is sure that it's only because of the rain coming down like bullets, piercing through shirts and skins, leaving a trail to wind down into sewers and holes, only waiting to be recycled by man or air or sun. It looks red against his skin, but that can only be because of the rosacea he has. Not... other things. Tyler stands to his feet. 

"What is it?" Josh asks. He holds out his hand to Tyler, for help, but Tyler can't move his thin arms to take hold. Not yet. 

"I'm gonna show you what Pompeii did." 


End file.
